


Planets All Align

by noplacespecial



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Episode Related, Episode Tag, F/M, Het, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-12-09
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2017-10-04 07:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noplacespecial/pseuds/noplacespecial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of S1 gapfillers/post-ep pieces with a WeeVer spin; mostly short little vignettes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

**Author's Note:**

> I've seen this done in other fandoms, and suddenly I just got the urge for it the other night. I will continue for as long as my muse stays in a good mood and sticks with me - I'm really having fun with it! There's no set format for which episodes I'm choosing - just whatever ones struck me as having a possible WeeVer outcome. Rating is to be on the safe side - I don't know right now where I'm going with this.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Veronica, Weevil, Felix, Letti, or any other character herein. They belong to Rob Thomas, the CW, and Silver Pictures. No copyright infringement intended - this is purely for my own benefit.

~*~

Weevil wonders how it's possible that he never noticed Veronica Mars before last week.

Oh sure, he knew who she was. He knew that she was the sheriff's daughter, and Lilly's best friend, and Duncan's girl. He knew that she was a cute little '09er, but that hardly made her stand out. Veronica Mars blended into the scenery.

The fiery blonde that was took him on at the lunch table, tasered Felix outside the Camelot, and laughed in his face on the shores of Dog Beach is a different person entirely, and he hasn't been able to get her out of his head. Because really, what's not to like? She's smart, she's hot, and she's probably got bigger balls than most of his boys.

He knows that he doesn't have a chance with her. She may not be an official '90er anymore - she's not even the sheriff's daughter anymore. But she gets good grades and she loves her dad and girls like that don't give _cholos_ like him the time of day. The nice thing about Veronica, though, is that she doesn't treat him as if that's the case. She doesn't lead him on, but she doesn't dismiss him, either. He may never be her boyfriend and walk hand-in-hand down the halls of Neptune High with her, but somehow, he thinks they might be friends.

Weevil and his boys pull into the back parking lot just as Veronica is climbing out of her LeBaron, that skinny little black boy trailing after her like a puppy dog. Felix takes one look at her miniskirt and leather boots and lets out a loud wolf whistle.

"Nice to know you don't hold grudges," Weevil chuckles.

"Against an ass that fine? Oh, _hell_ no!"

"That's very touching. C'mon, let's go." Clapping him over the shoulder, Weevil shoves his friend into the school. But not without a backwards glance to find Veronica looking his way. She winks at him before sashaying past, and Weevil emits a whistle of his own.

Yeah. He could stand to have a friend like Veronica Mars.


	2. Credit Where Credit's Due

"You'll stay for dinner Veronica, _no_?" Letti asks. Before Veronica can answer, she pops her head back inside. Weevil laughs.

"Good luck sayin' no to Grams," he warns. Veronica smiles nervously and lets him lead her inside, his large palm rough and warm at the small of her back. It really comes as no surprise that she likes to be in control - and here, on Weevil's turf, she feels horribly off-balance. The scents are unfamiliar, the language is different, and the badass PCHers are lounging around the living room playing video games and horsing around with brothers and cousins. Even Weevil seems different...softer. As she's herded to the table, he stops to take a heavy bowl from Letti's hands and delivers it to the table for her.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Veronica asks anxiously.

"Oh no, of course not. You're our guest!" Letti insists, turning back to her stovetop full of pots. But Weevil watches her small white fingers fidget with the silverware and knows that she's hardly going to be satisfied with sitting idly by.

"Here," he instructs, setting a pan of dough on the table in front of her. "Start making rolls." He takes the seat next to her and sprinkles their workspace with flour from a ceramic canister. Seeing him in domestic mode is fascinating...and a little amusing. But she stifles her laughter and watches his long fingers shape the dough into perfectly-formed spheres. "C'mon, Mars, start earning your keep," he teases.

They work in silence, fingers occasionally brushing as they reach for the dough at the same time. Hector passes by and makes a predictable joke about balls, a small girl and boy that Weevil introduces as Angel and Lulu almost knock the table over thanks to a rambunctious game of tag, and Weevil keeps sneaking tastes of the raw dough, getting popped on the head by Letti when he's caught. By the time they manage to fill a whole tray Veronica feels like they just completed one of Hercules' twelve labors. Still, she likes the commotion. Being an only child, the novelty of a peaceful house has long-since worn off.

"These look perfect!" Letti exclaims. Weevil grins as she opens the door to slide the finished tray into the oven.

"We make a good team, huh V?" he says, holding up a hand. Laughing, she completes the high-five, and prays that the Navarros attribute the redness in her cheeks to the heat from the open oven door.


	3. The Wrath of Con

Dog Beach is quiet tonight. The '09er side of town, no doubt, is rocking to the sounds of top 40's hits and the squeal of limousine tires.

Homecoming. The Big Dance. To some, it's the epitome of the high school experience. Here on "the wrong side of the tracks", its barely a blip on the radar. Weevil's got the beach to himself - crescent moon, half a handle of Jack, and the crash of the waves. Oh, the rich kids may think they have it all, but on a silent starry night like this, there's little else to want in the world. Sliding down to the sand, Weevil props himself up against the cliffs and settles in to watch the water.

The wind is gentle tonight - enough to sway the branches of some palm trees out in the distance, but not enough to lift the sand from the ground. So when the water starts rippling like crazy, Weevil blinks to clear his eyes. Still there. And he's only taken about half a dozen sips from the bottle in his hand. Still, he glances down to double-check.

When he looks back up, there's a shadow amidst the ripples. In the faint moonlight, he makes out an arm...a head...and a decidedly female chest. Weevil smirks. Skinny-dippers in the ocean aren't exactly a rare occurrence. He stays still, squinting in the darkness.

She swims about for several minutes, treading water then leaning back to float. When the cold gets to be too much for her, she returns to shore, where she retrieves a bright red dress from where it had been splayed across the sand and wiggles into it. Now that his eyes have adjusted to the light, Weevil can make out a limousine waiting at the road, but the female figures is still too far away to discern anything other than pale skin and a small, slender body.

"Veronica!" a slightly panicked voice cries from inside the limo. "We're gonna be late!"

"You are _insane_, girl!" Wallace chimes in, while a third, female voice lets out a whoop in the background. Veronica slips her sandals back onto her feet and runs, laughing and wobbling, back to the car.

"That was all you, Lil!" she shouts back at the waves before the door slams shut behind her. The motor revs, the tail lights growing smaller and smaller until they disappear completely.

Weevil is still rooted to the spot, jaw slack in utter shock. He chuckles - skinny-dipping was such a Lilly move.

"God bless you, girl," he says, raising his bottle to toast the empty night sky.


	4. You Think You Know Somebody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have several more chapter of this story; I'm only now realizing that I never posted them here. It isn't finished (and, at my current rate, won't be for another four years or so), but I'll post all that I've got.

He's in the yard yanking weeds out of Abuela's modest little vegetable garden when the now-familiar LeBaron pulls up to the curb. Weevil rises to his feet with a sigh, steeling himself for whatever's about to come next; you never know with Veronica Mars. She barrels towards him, determined, but stops at the fence like she's not sure whether she's welcome, even after she's eaten dinner across his kitchen table and helped his grams wash and dry the dishes. The action softens him, just a little, to whatever's about to come out of that smart mouth of hers.

"So, I'm trying to find a way to say this without being completely rude and offensive," she blurts, and Weevil snorts in response.

"Since when has that ever stopped you?" he retorts. He ambles down towards the end of the short gravel driveway to stand closer to her, but with the fence still between them. Let her squirm a bit longer.

"I'm in the middle of a case right now and I'm up to my neck in Mexicans and stolen cars." Weevil pauses a moment, then just snickers. It occurs to him, somewhere in the back recesses of his mind, that he probably _should_ be offended. But it's Veronica, and he wishes he knew how or why, but she's got him making allowances for her that he usually doesn't for anyone except family.

"This about your little boyfriend?" he asks. She nods, and that one stings more than the knowledge that he's the first person she comes to when she needs info on Latino carjackers. But he tamps it all down (because what else is he supposed to do?) and gestures to where his bike is parked along the side of the house.

"Come on, my cousin Angel's got a body shop next town over. He's legit, but every once in awhile...stuff comes through and he looks the other way, you know?" Veronica nods, but wiggles her car keys at him.

"We can just take mine," she suggests. Weevil shakes his head.

"Not gonna let a car he doesn't know onto the lot. Me, he'll have the gate open once I turn down the street. Come on, I'll go find my extra helmet." But instead of following him to the garage, Veronica takes a few steps back.

"You know what, we can just do this another day," she says, words spilling out as she nearly trips over her own feet trying to get away from him. Weevil cocks his head to the side, baffled.

"Was it something I said?" he jokes. When she doesn't even bother with a retort, he knows it's something real that's got her spooked, and he follows the line of her gaze over to his hog. No. She can't possibly. Oh, this is rich.

"Seeya later, Weevil," she calls, back already turned and in the process of fleeing the scene, but he's not having any of that. He will milk this for all it's worth.

"Don't _even_ tell me Little Miss Badass is afraid of riding a motorcycle!" he crows. He can't help it, he really can't. When she whirls around, she's got the Mars Death Glare trained on him, but he's still laughing, loudly and heartily.

"I am not!" she predictably insists. Veronica's stance - eyes blazing, brows furrowed, tiny fists balled at her hips - is starting to become quite familiar. The girl is stubborn as all get-out - he's beginning to see why she and that pit bull of hers get along so well.

"Hey don't worry about it, I think it's kinda cute," he confesses without thinking. This is clearly the wrong thing to say to a girl like Veronica. There's a fleeting moment when he could swear she's blushing, but then the mask of fury returns, and he's half convinced that he actually sees smoke coming out of her ears.

"I am _not_ scared of getting on your bike," she says again. Weevil shrugs.

"Then I guess there's no problem," he says easily, and begins anew his sojourn into the cramped, messy garage. It's mostly toys and old patio furniture, but with so many people under one roof it accumulates quickly. There are a few spare helmets lying around and it takes him a few minutes to locate one small enough for Veronica, tucked in the back under Berto's workbench. He takes a minute to wipe it free of dirt and sawdust, and when he escapes back into the sunlight he finds Veronica up near the house, eying the bike like it's a live animal she's trying not to spook.

"Ready to go?" he asks nonchalantly, slinging the helmet towards her. Veronica takes it and fastens it beneath her chin, pulling the strap taut.

"I'm not scared to ride a motorcycle," she repeats once more, as if he's somehow forgotten.

"Of course not," he agrees. "So hop on, then." He busies himself with flipping the killswitch and keying the ignition, and a moment later he feels her weight settle in behind him. She keeps a few inches between them, so far back on the saddle she's going to tumble off the back of it in a minute. Weevil turns his head, meeting as much of her gaze as he can in the awkward position.

"What's the holdup, _vato_?" she questions. It's just a notch below her usual level of bravado; almost undetectable. Almost.

"Don't have to do this, you know," he says easily. "I could just go see Angel and report back to you tomorrow." He doesn't need to be looking at her full-on to figure out she's glaring at him again.

"I don't make it a habit of sending other people to do my dirty work when I'm perfectly capable," she says primly. "Let's go."

"Alright, then." Weevil takes his own helmet from where it dangles off the left handlebar and slides it into place. Without warning Veronica, he reaches back and grabs her hands, yanking her forward so that the whole line of her body presses firmly into his back.

"Weevil!" she protests, scrambling backwards.

"Gotta hold on unless you feel like eating pavement," he replies easily, voice muffled through the helmet. She huffs indignantly, but leaves her arms wrapped around his waist. He thumbs the start button, and the motor roars to life beneath them. It's a comforting sound, followed by the familiar purr thrumming between his legs, but Veronica lets out a yelp and lurches to the side before catching herself. "You've gotta stop doing that!" he yells back.

"What?" She leans forward to be heard over the engine, breath hot against his ear. Weevil pulls her arms firmly across his middle.

"Just hang on and trust me." She snorts, and normally it'd be enough, but today he wants to hear her say it. Wants to hear that he's more than just her ticket to the Mexican underground, even if the words are hollow and meaningless. "Do you trust me?" he presses.

"What?" she says again, but with their cheeks pressed close together he knows she heard his words crystal clear.

"Do you trust me?" he repeats. She hesitates. He tries not to let it get to him; after all, it's not like she's a very trusting person to begin with. But the pause rankles at him all the same, and he's glad for the barrier of the helmet visor between them. Finally Veronica lets out a loud sigh.

"I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I?" she says wearily. And they both know that's crap, because there aren't many people out there that can make Veronica Mars do something she doesn't want to do. Weevil grins beneath his helmet. He'll take what he can get.

"Then just relax and let me do all the heavy lifting, _chica_." He only catches the first few words of the retort she aims back at him as he flips up the kickstand; then their feet are off the ground and she clutches him tightly, the rest of her words getting swallowed by the wind.


	5. Return of the Kane

As Veronica exits the cafeteria on Friday after the election, she's more concerned with scarfing down her grilled cheese than paying attention to where she's going. Her father, god love him, still persists in the delusion that he can cook, which she doesn't have the heart to dissuade him from. Some of his culinary experiments aren't entirely inedible, but others, well...they have her blowing her money on cafeteria food. At least she has the option at school, versus at home where she makes herself choke it down with him grinning at her from across the kitchen island.

But having to stand in line in the caf, in addition to forcing her to spend extra quality time with her classmates, also eats into the small chunk of her school day where she isn't expected to be anywhere, and as usual she's juggling several cases at once. She eats her sandwich one-handed as she heads to her usual table to check in with Wallace, mentally running through a checklist of all she needs to get done before fifth period. She's actually considering logging her newspaper hours towards some Pirate Points, if only for the convenience of delivery in order to avoid the lunchroom crowds, when she smacks right into a broad, leather-clad chest.

"Don't tell me," Weevil drawls, fingers settling at her hips to steady them both. "Is there a killer rave going on somewhere? I hear that's what you're into these days." Veronica briefly wonders how he even knows this, then chides herself. He's Weevil, and this is Neptune. Of course he knows.

"Yeah, you got me," she deadpans. "I party hard." Weevil cracks a grin at this.

"So, if I wanted to score some E..." he trails off.

"I'm your girl." And oh, does she wish she could rescind that statement, and all implications therein. But Weevil either doesn't catch on or is content to ignore it, and she's not sure which option she would prefer.

"Look at you, earning your badass cred back," he says. He scoots forward just slightly as he speaks, eyes daring her to call him on it. But this game of chicken between them is now a longstanding tradition, and who is she to diverge from that? Plus she's still hurt and upset, about Troy and about Wanda, and bantering with Weevil never fails to cheer her up. Funny, that.

"Are you implying that I lost it?" she tosses back.

"Possibly." She realizes he's referring to two weeks ago, and her near-terror at the thought of getting on a motorcycle. So sue her, those things are dangerous! She may be all about taking risks these days, but there's a difference between risk and outright stupidity.

"I got the hang of it pretty quickly, thank you very much," she replies primly. Despite all evidence to the contrary, Weevil had remained a safe and cautious driver. Maybe it was because he had a passenger, maybe he was actually being respectful of her fear, but he hadn't sped, hadn't taken any curves too fast, and by the time they were pulling back into his driveway she had actually relaxed enough to start enjoying herself a bit.

"Well now that you're an old pro and all, you know where to find me if you want a ride." Veronica bites her lip against an instinctive response, because she has to admit that the offer is tempting. Clinging to his back, motor purring between her legs, chatting at stoplights before roaring off into the rush of late afternoon traffic? Yeah, she could manage doing that again. And the second meaning beneath his words, well...it's easy enough to write off as harmless innuendo, because that's what they do, and it's what she clings to. Especially since the alternative is letting him know just how enticing she finds that offer, which is just not even an option.

"What if I want to drive?" she asks, the picture of innocence. Weevil takes the bait immediately, eyes darkening with lust as he takes another step towards her, not even bothering to be subtle about it this time.

"Baby, you can drive anytime you want," he croons, and she has to let out a giggle that she is willing to admit is equal parts amusement at his cheesiness and nervousness at his proximity. The titter from beside them breaks the spell, just as Veronica is conjuring up mental images of herself steering Weevil's hog - not a metaphor this time - and him riding shotgun with his arms wrapped around her for support, hands wandering every so often. The real world fades back in on a pair of sophomores, staring blatantly as they walk past.

"Can I help you with something?" Veronica snaps, but the girls just break into giggles again and keep walking. Beside her, Weevil chuckles as well, and she pauses to assess their current situation. Toe to toe, space between them for little more than breath, and until a moment ago both grinning, her head tilted to the side and his tongue jutting out from between his teeth in a manner that could only be described as lascivious; in full flirt mode, whether she cares to admit it or not. And his hand - Veronica realizes with a start that he never removed his hand from her waist, and she hadn't bothered to remove it for him.

She jumps back as if she's been burned, Weevil's expression unreadable and Wanda's words from last week running through her mind. She had brushed it off as ridiculous at the time, the Neptune High gossip chain having speculated about her and Weevil. It's not as if they hang out all the time - in fact, they barely had any contact at all before he started harassing Wallace, which is what makes the rumors that much more unfathomable. But yet look at them now - apparently scandalous enough that they've got underclassmen giving them knowing looks in the hallways.

The other part of her conversation with Wanda replays, unbidden, and she cuts her eyes back over to Weevil, still silent and observing her. He's got all the hallmarks of being Lily's type - at least in that he's male and attractive and would piss her parents off to no end. And oh god, when did that happen? When did she start admitting that he was attractive? A smile starts to spread slowly across Weevil's mouth, as if he knows exactly what she's thinking. It sets her reeling and flustered, more so than she'd care to admit. Between this the events of the past week she just doesn't have the mental capacity to even process it all right now. Best to ignore it then - always the healthy choice. 

"Gotta go," she mumbles, spinning around and all but fleeing in terror. She can hear Weevil sputtering in confusion behind her, but she resolutely keeps her eyes forward, feeling not all that superior anymore to the wide-eyed, bumbling sophomores.

Apparently the Neptune gossip hounds deserve way more credit than she's been giving them.


	6. The Girl Next Door

Weevil's never been expelled before, but he has been suspended. Suspensions, after a mild scolding from Abuela to behave, always consisted of sleeping in late, playing video games with whoever else decided to ditch that day, and tooling down the PCH for afternoon beers at Berto's little highway cantina. Suspensions were, for all intents and purposes, a vacation. Suspensions he could deal with.

Expulsion, on the other hand...

Well, for one, it hadn't started with the screaming match he'd expected from Abuela. Instead, there was a tense and silent dinner, followed by a sad shake of her head that spoke volumes. And that just killed him. The woman had taken care of his Ma, young and pregnant and terrified. And after his dad took off, and Ma was gunned down in a drive-by thanks to her gangbanger boyfriend of the week...then it was Abuela who had fed him, clothed him, sat by his bed when the nightmares got to be too much, and always told him that she believed in him. It wasn't like he had much of that kind of positive reinforcement to go around, so to see it all crumble in the face of her disappointment was like a sucker-punch to the gut.

Then, of course, there was the knowledge that rich little white boy Logan Echolls was getting off scot-free for his own part in the crime. It really shouldn't have come as much of a surprise, that only he himself would be dragged in for questioning when both of them had made no secret of their disdain for Mr. Daniels over the past few days. And it wasn't like he had ever planned on ratting Echolls out. Granted, he'd like to see the little punk get what's coming to him one day, but fact of the matter is they're in this together. And it's rule numero uno when you join the PCH'ers: have your boys' backs.

Yeah. Fat lot of good it's done him this time.

The first day, he rides around with Chardo, dodging patrol cars on the highway and drag-racing on quiet little back streets. The second day, he spends the morning helping Berto stock liquor bottles and wipe down counter tops in exchange for an afternoon of drinking for free. He plays cards with a bunch of regulars and wins three nice cigars and a watch. The next day he smokes said cigars down on the beach after trying and failing to garner up the courage to talk to Abuela.

By the time his fourth day of suspension rolls around, he's just plain _bored_. He plays video games by himself in his underwear, surrounded by junk food, and feels like a complete loser. He's thankfully cleaned himself up by the time Hector and Felix get home from school, and when his cell buzzes with Veronica Mars' name, it's like a gift straight from heaven. Say what you will about her, the girl is never boring.

"Hey. It's Veronica. Hear you have some free time on your hands, you wanna do me a little favor?" she says without preamble. "Trash a prissy little boutique down by the waterfront?" 

"What's in it for me?" he retorts. She pauses, and it doesn't really matter at this point that she's on the other end of a telephone instead of standing in front of him because he can still see the expression she is most likely making at him right now; the one that says they both know he's absolutely going to say yes regardless of any sort of personal gain or not.

"Um, did I mention the part where you get to trash a store without fear of consequence?" she humors him. "Don't even try and tell me you haven't entertained the spoiled rock star fantasy once or twice." Since she can't see him, he grins, then quickly sobers when he realizes that she can probably predict his facial expressions far better than he can hers.

"I could swing by," he says casually. Briefly, he wonders if she was in the halls to see him get escorted off campus by security the other day, and if the sight would have intrigued or disgusted her. He can kind of see it going either way.

"Feel free to bring some of your boys," Veronica adds. "I want to make a scene. I'll text you the address." And then he's listening to the dial tone.

"What's up?" Hector asks. He and Felix have seized control of the couch and video game console that have made up Weevil's entire day, and he has no desire to join them.

"Headed out. Gotta do somebody a favor. You in?" Felix nudges Hector's shoulder and gestures at Weevil, who tries to pretend they're not staring at him like he's got something on his face. "What?" he spats, annoyed.

"I know that look," Felix sing-songs. Weevil kind of hates him.

"In or out?" he demands. Hector looks down at the controller in his hands and shrugs, clearly oblivious to the silent conversation going on around him.

"Yeah, why not?" he acquiesces.

When they pull up, Veronica is perched on the hood of that ancient car of hers, nose buried in a book. She looks up when she hears the roar of engines, and Weevil bumps his fist against hers before leading the cadre of PCH'ers into the boutique. Hector is at his side as they slip through the door.

"Now I get it," he says with a smirk. Felix chuckles from behind them.

"Right?"

They're lucky it's time to get down to business, because Weevil's got a few choice words for both of them at the tip of his tongue.

When all is said and done, evidence retrieved and bikers cleared out of the store, he flounders helplessly. Albeit, a helplessness that comes fully equipped with a manly swagger. But his relationship with the boys and this bizarre quasi-friendship with Veronica are two completely separate parts of his life, and to see them merged is...well, it's confusing. To say the very least. 

At the moment, she's chatting easily with Felix and Tito. But that's not really a surprise, because Felix is astoundingly good with people. They've joked that he's the public relations official of the PCH club; the boy could make friends with anyone. It's a skill that Weevil has always been secretly envious of. He doesn't always say the right thing, doesn't always read people the right way. He's long since convinced both his peers and himself that he doesn't care what others think of him, and for the most part that's true. But sometimes he can't help wish he had Felix's casual charm, that way of putting people completely at ease.

Case in point.

He watches Veronica fiddle with the diary, her eyes continually drifting down even as she holds conversation with the boys. He knows that she's only being polite, and that right now there's nothing she wants more than to delve into its contents, puzzle over its meaning and unlock the secrets hidden within. This is something important, more than ballot tampering and missing cars, and it _means something_ that of everyone she could have called, she chose him. That he's becoming the one she chooses on a semi-regular basis. They're at a precarious place right now, and it's the worst time for him to screw things up, which only means that that's exactly what he does.

He saunters over to stand next to her, knocking her shoulder with his and hovering far closer than necessary. "Need me for anything else?" he asks. And yeah, okay, so that came out a little dirty. But they do this, the innuendo and the flirting. This is normal.

Except that his boys aren't usually there, and Veronica's mouth is open to fire off a retort when they start snickering. She pauses, a little unsure, because this is new territory for both of them. But at the end of the day, it's his friends, his club, and he's the one that should smooth things over.

Only he doesn't. His tongue gets jammed up inside his mouth, his brain running through what to say to appease both Veronica and the bikers, but in the end he stays silent, heart sinking like the sun below the horizon. Veronica cuts her eyes back over to the boys, and to some of the others - Hector, Beni, Carlos - behind them, who are now all eying the way their leader is pressed up against the side of some flat-chested little white girl.

What he wants to say is:

"Don't flatter yourself, Mars." With a laugh.

"Get a life, cholos." To the gang.

"Need a ride home, any more help with the case?" To clarify.

What he actually says is nothing, and after shooting a few looks back and forth between him and his boys, Veronica finally gives him a scathing look and hops off of her car.

"No," she says simply. No emotion. Not entirely cold, but far from friendly either

Weevil's boys are still laughing as the LeBaron pulls back from the curb and disappears down the hill. Weevil watches her go for as long as he thinks he can manage without starting a fresh round of ribbing from the guys.

Screw loyalty; he should have turned Echolls in when he had the chance, avoided this entire debacle. He revs his bike as he turns towards home, trying and failing to drown out the rest of the world in the purr of the engine.


	7. Like a Virgin

"Have you ever done it on the beach?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever done it in a moving vehicle?"

"Yes."

"Have you ever done it in a family member's bed?"

"Ye-" Thumper doesn't even get the full syllable out before the rest of the PCH'ers burst out laughing.

"Boy, if you even _thought_ about having sex in your mama's bed, she'd castrate you," Hector laughs.

"How do you know I didn't have sex in _your_ bed?" he retorts, but the boys only start laughing again. Thumper scowls. Slumping down into his chair, he sees their leader with his head lolled back against the wall, eyes half-closed in sleep. Picking up one of the computer lab mousepads, Thumper chucks it at him. "Why aren't you taking this thing, dog?"

Weevil snorts, not changing position. "I don't need to prove myself to you _cholos_." Felix drags his chair over to one of the computers closest to him.

"C'mon, man - I wanna see if you can get a negative score." The others roar with laughter as he logs in and pulls up the purity test website. The first few sections are standard stuff - do you smoke, drink, do illegal drugs? "Oh, let's just skip to the good part," he says, scrolling down. Some of the boys watch him, some turn their attentions back to Thumper's exaggerations.

"Have you smoked up on school grounds?" Felix reads aloud. Weevil just raises an eyebrow and remains silent. "Ok, fine. I'm marking that as a yes, obviously. Have you ever stayed out all night? Ha! Have you ever had so much to drink that you blacked out?" He blows through several sections of questions pretty quickly, simply because Weevil refuses to engage, head still rested against the cinderblock. Felix isn't sure whether he's actually listening to him or not. The whole thing is sort of starting to lose its appeal without any participation.

"Have you ever had a wet dream?" is the next question. Javi giggles like a five-year-old, and just for that Felix marks yes. "How about...have you ever masturbated more than five times in a 24-hour period?" Weevil's eyes droop a little further closed. "I'm marking yes for that one, too," he says pointedly. No response.

"Come on man," Javi prods. "What's your problem?"

"I don't got a problem," Weevil shoots back easily. "I just don't need some stupid internet badge of honor to tell me I'm a macho man." Felix cuts his eyes over to Thumper, still engrossed in his own test, and has to concede the point. Javi leans over his shoulder and reads the next question anyway.

"Have you ever had sex with a brunette? Okay, duh. Have you ever had sex with a redhead?...Wasn't there that new girl last year?...Have you ever had sex with a blonde? Well with the way Veronica Mars is always hanging around, I'm thinking that one's a 'yes' too."

Weevil's hand snaps up, almost reflexively, to knock the mouse out of Felix's, startling several of the nearby bikers. "I told you I'm not doing this shit," he growls. Felix blinks.

"Yeah, sure...sorry, man," he backtracks, untangling the mouse's cord and slipping it hesitantly back into place. Weevil continues glowering, arms folded and fists clenched. Felix watches him, wanting to say something but unable to find the right words. Weevil meets his gaze.

"What?" he demands. Felix looks away.

"Nothing."


	8. An Echolls Family Christmas

It comes as no surprise that the Echolls family Christmas party is decked out in full - if it's over-the-top and Christmas themed, chances are it's somewhere in the room. Veronica starts playing a "Where's Waldo?"-type game with the wicker reindeer, pine cone wreaths, and sinister-looking wooden nutcrackers. Weevil lounges beside her, his plate of food balanced on his knees as he echoes her sentiments.

"It's a regular Winter Wonderland in here," he cracks. "Seriously - it's just not Christmas without plastic icicles, is it?"

"Fake plastic trees, paper snow…what's not to love?"

"Maybe this punch?" He makes a face at his glass of sickeningly-sweet pink fluid. Veronica shakes her head.

"That's because you chose the wrong bowl," she chides, waving her own cup close enough to his face that he catches a whiff, and his eyes light up in recognition when he detects the astronomical booze content. Seriously, she's pretty sure there's only about a one-to-twelve punch to vodka ratio in there.

"What do I have to do to get you to share?" Weevil teases, leaning in dangerously close. Veronica taps her finger against her lips, eyes drifting upwards towards the ceiling as she pretends to be contemplating his question.

Mistletoe, 12:00.

For a second - only a second, she swears - she legitimately considers just going with it, knowing with absolute certainty that Weevil wouldn't hesitate to follow through, and the thought is…tempting. To say the least. She feels her face flush at the thought, though it's not the first time it's crossed her mind. There's always been something there, since they came into each others' orbits earlier this year - something tugging at the edges, insistent. It took her a long time to finally admit that it was there, but if she's completely honest with herself, it's something that's been creeping up slowly for awhile now. Something she can remember as far back as freshman year, a nervous Eli Navarro stammering out lines of poetry to their English Lit class. His work or not, there was a vulnerability there that she knew wasn't an act.

That Weevil, she would have kissed. Mistletoe or no. The Weevil that she banters playfully with, that lets his little cousins climb him like a piece of playground equipment and takes her bag at the door to Logan's pool house. The brief occasions where he lets her peek beneath the surface, see the decent guy lurking under the sneer and the leather jacket. But those moments are few and far between, replaced instead by him posturing in front of his boys. 

She knows the others don't have anything against her; she's chatted with Felix a couple of times in class since she and Weevil became quasi-friends, joked with Hector when they were forced to work on a group project together. And it's not like she's hanging off him like a clingy girl with a crush, either. This week, in the English room, she'd been legitimately offering her help, trying to pay him back for all the times he's done favors for her. And he'd responded by being a complete ass. So fine - if Weevil's going to keep acting like she's some big smear on his reputation that he can't afford to be seen around, well. She can't say it's the first time she's been on the receiving end of such behavior. She just expected more from him than from the ‘09ers. But that's Neptune for you - people disappoint you, and nothing is ever what it seems. 

Veronica spares a glance and finds Weevil still tilted towards her, his head in the process of craning back to see what's caught her attention. It's a really good thing she can think on her feet.

"You've got to show me that fancy card shuffle you did earlier tonight,” she says, voice high and bright. Weevil blinks owlishly.

“What?”

“Come on." Veronica grabs at him while he's uttering protests towards his still half-full plate of food, but he lets her hook her arm through his and lead him back out to the pool house, safely out of range of any more kissing traps.

Crisis averted.


	9. Silence of the Lamb

When Gustavo disappears, Weevil assumes that Thumper will be the natural predecessor. To be honest, he doesn’t much care…until it becomes clear that the boys have for some reason elected him the de facto leader. To say he’s shocked is an understatement. He’s smaller than the other boys, quieter - he really never understood why he was accepted into the club in the first place, though he suspects that it had something to do with Felix putting in a good word with his big brother. He mostly kept his grades decent for Abuela Letty’s sake, he had no interest in buying or selling drugs, and he was crap with girls, but he was loyal almost to a fault. The brotherhood aspect of the PCHers had always appealed to him, and he thinks that maybe that’s what the others need right now, too. It wasn’t that Gus didn’t respect unity - more that he was willing to abandon it with relative ease if there was money coming in. And so, over time, Weevil learns how to be the leader of a bike gang; how to speak up, how to hold his liquor, how to throw a punch.

Girls, well…he’s starting to think he’s never going to get it right in that department.

Veronica grabs his arm in the hallway on Thursday afternoon, her gaze laser-sharp and focused, and he can practically hear the gears turning behind her eyes. Veronica mid-scheme is a sight both frightening and awe-inspiring at the same time.

“What do you need?” he asks with a sigh. He considers putting up a token protest, but they both know how silly it would be at this point.

“Can you come by the sheriff’s office at around 9 tonight? I’ll be there with the deputy on duty, I just need you to distract him for a few minutes while I slip into the back and grab something out of the evidence locker.” She’s all business, not even her usual smile and teasing comment for him. Weevil shrugs anyway.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

“Great, thanks.” And then she’s off. Weevil watches her go out of habit, annoyed at his own spinelessness - he never even asked what it is he’s helping her stealing from evidence. He groans and kicks at a locker half-heartedly.

But that’s it, right? Aside from his dignity taking a hit, he figures it can’t get much worse - just show up, be obnoxious enough to get the attention of whatever idiot they’ve got riding the desk, and then get lost. Except that when he shows up at promptly 8:55, he finds that said desk deputy is not exactly the balding, middle-aged uniform he’d been picturing. Instead it’s some young, attractive guy that’s got Veronica giggling into her pizza, chair shifted close and entire body leaning across the desk. It’s her real flirty giggle, not her information-digging flirty giggle; he of all people should know. It’s the one he wrings out of her every once in awhile, and marks it as a personal victory, and here she is giving it to some guy he’s never even seen before.

Weevil is not in the habit of being made to feel like a chump. And yet, he strides over to the desk anyway, hand hitting the service bell harder than necessary. The angry scowl he puts on is no act, and though the words coming out of his mouth are nonsense about noise levels, he gets a bit of satisfaction from the stricken look Deputy Dingbat gets as his yelling escalates. Veronica barely looks at him, just slips in and out of the back room without a sound and rearranges herself on her chair, waiting for the deputy to return. Weevil resists the urge to do something stupid, if only because he’s slightly terrified of the fallout should he blow Veronica’s cover, but it’s a near thing.

He won’t lie - a part of him was hoping that this would put him back into her good graces, earn him a reward of some sort. But aside from a brief text - _you’re a rockstar, i owe you one_ \- he doesn’t hear from her for days. She’s busy with the deputy, he can only assume, and spends an afternoon pounding at sheet metal in Angel’s garage pretending to be productive.

At the end of the day, unfortunately, he knows that his anger is misplaced, because his track record is pretty shitty as far as she’s concerned. When it’s just the two of them it’s easy, but he gets nervous and jumpy when there’s someone watching, particularly his friends. His thing for Veronica is stupid and naive and while he fully admits it to himself, the last thing he needs is anyone else reminding him of it. So it’s easier, for both of their sakes, to pretend that she’s just some white girl he flirts with from time to time. Makes things less complicated that way, just so no one forgets their place in all of this.

He’s _really_ never going to learn how to deal with girls, is he?


	10. Clash of the Tritons

Veronica is smarter than most of her classmates put together; of that Weevil has no doubt. But even so, he thinks that she underestimates her peers sometimes. Take today, for instance: manning a stakeout from her car, covered in a tarp so bright it’s nearly neon. Then again, students are passing right by without seeming to notice, so maybe she has the right idea after all. But it only takes a few moments of contemplation to figure out that no one with a car worth covering would be parked in the back lot. Add that to the fact that Veronica was suspended yesterday and there's really only one logical conclusion.

Weevil slips away from the PCH'ers after lunch and waits for the lot to clear before poking his head under the tarp. The passenger's side door is unlocked, and he disappears inside.

Veronica sits with a notebook in her lap, feet propped up onto the dashboard. When Weevil takes a seat beside her, she jumps in surprise, her pen falling to the floor of the car.

"What are you up to, Mars?" he asks teasingly, but her eyes are wide with guilt. From the radio, Weevil recognizes Ms. James' voice, followed by Logan's. The significance takes a moment to sink in, and his eyes narrow. He snatches the notebook from her lap and flips back a few pages; sure enough, there’s his own name jotted down next to his appointment time, followed by a page of notes. _Weevil and Lilly??_ is scrawled in the top margin, and his throat constricts. "I was going to ask you if you'd heard anything interesting, but..."

"I wasn't trying to spy on you - I'm listening to everyone that Ms. James is talking to. I didn't even know that you were on the list."

"Well it's a good thing you know now - another suspect for you to investigate, right?" Snorting in disgust, he tosses the notebook back at her. Veronica makes no move to catch it, and it hits her thigh before clattering to the ground to join her pen. She doesn’t respond, doesn’t try and explain herself, and really it was kind of silly to think, even for this short moment, that she would. This is Veronica Mars he’s talking about, she’s not going to suddenly start being open and honest with people. Least of all him. With a sigh of annoyance (more at himself than anything else), he turns and reaches for the door handle.

"Weevil..."

Her hand is small and warm against his bicep. "Don't worry, I won't blow your cover," he promises. Veronica's grip tightens.

"Hey." He opens the door under the tarp. "_Hey_." Whether it's desperate curiosity or the sense of urgency in her voice, Weevil pauses. "If you've got nothing to hide then you've got nothing to be mad at me for." Chuckling in disbelief, Weevil sinks back into the passenger's seat.

"Nothing at all, huh? Did it ever occur to you that I might not want people to know about Lilly and me?" Veronica's eyes narrow.

"So you do have something to hide." Weevil scoffs, his voice rising in irritation.

"See, this is the problem with you, girl!" he exclaims. "It's not all about the case. You get in the middle of something and it’s like you’ve got blinders on. There are other possibilities, but you can’t even see them.”

"So tell me."

"I was embarrassed!" Weevil shouts. Veronica jumps in her seat at the sudden increase in volume. "Lilly was a bitch, okay? You know it. But I loved her anyway. I was good to her and she tossed me aside the second Logan Echolls snapped his fingers. You heard my sob story in there - you think I want this place knowing that the leader of the PCH bike club got taken down by some '09er chick?" 

"You're not really doing a great job of convincing me that you didn't have a motive to kill her," Veronica points out. She’s still meeting his eyes, but it’s not with her usual steely gaze. If he had to guess, he’d say that she looked uncomfortable and even a little scared. Then again, this is Veronica so it’s nearly impossible to tell, but he takes a moment to breathe, and re-evaluate. His hands are balled into fists, clenching and unclenching in a steady pulse, and he’s leaning over the armrest towards her. He blinks, and shifts back. He wasn’t really trying to be menacing, but talking about Lilly always makes him angry, even after all this time; angry at the way she treated him, angry at the way he took it like a little bitch, and angry that someone saw fit to take her life like it meant nothing to them. Yeah, there were times when Weevil downright hated her. But she was also the first and really only girl he’s ever loved. He may be a thug, but he’s not a killer. He leans back towards Veronica, calmer this time, and gets right up in her face. Unsurprisingly, she holds her ground.

"I'm not saying that I don't have a motive. Hell, if you dig deep enough almost everyone has a motive. But _I didn't kill her_. Look me in the eyes, Veronica - you know I'm not lying."

He doesn’t know what goes on in that head of hers - god help anyone who actually does - but she glares daggers at him for several long moments before finally deflating, leaning back against the headrest of the driver’s seat with a quiet sigh. “Okay,” she murmurs. Weevil snorts.

“Really? That’s it?”

“What, do you want me to skywrite it?” Veronica snaps back. “I believe you that you didn’t kill her. Apologies to this bad boy image you’ve worked so hard to cultivate, but I don’t actually believe you’re capable of killing anyone. It’s just…a lot to take in.” In the dead air of the car, Logan and Ms. James continue to dissect his relationship with Lilly and it’s a little more than Weevil can take right now, so he reaches out to shut it off, knowing without having to ask that Veronica is recording it all for later use. The silence stretches out between them, Veronica staring out the window and seeing nothing but blue. Weevil watches her finger the ends of her hair, a nervous habit he remembers seeing on a different girl, and has to look away.

“You still with me?” he prods gently.

“You were a part of her life and I never knew about it,” she says; so softly he wonders if she even intends to say the words aloud. “We were best friends. I told her everything. Literally _everything_ \- there was not one thing about me that she didn’t know. But the more I keep digging, the more I find out, the more I realize that I barely knew her at all. She had this whole other life, all these secrets, and she never trusted me enough to tell me any of it.” 

“I can pretty much guarantee I wasn’t as big a part of her life as you think,” Weevil responds, and god the words hurt. He’s never said it out loud, never really discussed Lilly with anyone before today, but putting it into words is cathartic somehow. Forcing himself to admit how little she cared about him makes him feel less guilty about moving on, about feeling the way he does about her even though she’s dead and you’re supposed to forgive the dead their sins. He’s mourned, he’s forgiven, but there’s no need to whitewash it.

“She didn’t care about me,” he continues. “At least not the way I wanted her to. As for the other stuff…I think she was trying to protect you. Keep you away from all of that. I think it probably says more that she _didn’t_ tell you.” Veronica snorts - at the notion of needing to be protected, he assumes. “I don’t think you can ever really know everything about anyone,” he adds, and she turns back to face him again.

“No,” she agrees. “I guess not.” There’s not much activity in the back lot in the middle of the day, and beneath the electric blue tarp the world seems to boil down to just the two of them. In the quiet of the car, away from prying eyes and high school hierarchy, Weevil and Veronica study one another, and for a moment they are content to leave their secrets buried. It’s never admitted overtly, but there’s trust there. Weevil can feel it. It’s a gift that Veronica does not bestow lightly, and he should probably be grateful simply that she’s willing to clear him as a suspect and move on. But maybe he’s been hanging around her too much, because he doesn’t let it go. He pushes.

"I want in, V," he pleads. "I won’t pretend to have cared for Lilly the way you did, but I did care for her. And whoever it was that killed her, I want to see them pay.” He acknowledges that this is probably not the healthiest thing he could do with his time; he already wasted enough of it on the girl when she was alive, and got comparatively little in return. But Lilly was stubborn and loud and it kills him to think of her silenced. He knows he doesn’t owe her anything, and okay, so perhaps his motives aren’t so pure, but at the end of the day he wants to help Veronica. While he has no doubt that she could do this alone, she shouldn’t have to. Someone should be willing to stand with her. It’s just a matter of whether she’ll let him.

She does the death glare again, but he thinks he might be becoming immune to it, because the strongest reaction it produces from him is a smirk. It doesn’t take long this time for her to mirror his expression. "Well...strong bodyguard type, PCH bike club at your beck and call...I suppose I could do worse.”

“Thank you for that stirring vote of confidence,” he says sarcastically, but the smirk spreads into a wide grin, and he ducks down to grab the notebook and pen from the ground at her feet. When he looks back up her smile is genuine, and he can’t help but let his fingers linger just a moment too long when he hands them to her. Veronica smacks the notebook against the back of his knuckles and he laughs, settling back down in his seat. He turns the radio back on and she uncaps her pen, ready.


	11. Mars vs Mars

Weevil bypasses the coffee entirely as they cram into a dark little side booth at Java the Hutt, where he orders two giant pastries. Veronica calmly sips her latte and watches him demolish both in about five huge bites, hiding a smile. It’s just such a normal teenage boy thing to do, and she knows better than anyone that it’s been a long time since either of them have been normal teenagers.

“So what have you got for me?” he asks finally, wiping crumbs from the corners of his mouth. 

“Got a few things,” Veronica responds teasingly, just to see that eyebrow go up. But then she shrugs, getting down to business. “Not too much. I’ve got one lead I’m looking into, but right now the Rooks investigation is at the forefront.” Weevil shoots her an accusatory look, but she heads him off at the pass. “She’s not getting any deader,” she says gently. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned it’s that charging straight ahead and ignoring everything else isn’t going to get us anywhere. It didn’t work for my dad and it sure as hell isn’t going to work for me.” 

“What’s the lead?” he asks, not agreeing or disagreeing with her viewpoint. She doesn’t push it. She knows that almost manic sense of determination. She’s been there, fingers playing over the worn edges of an out-of-tune music box the same way Logan’s fidget with the lighter clutched deep in his pocket. She doesn’t always like the guy, but she can sure as hell relate. Something clenches in her stomach, and she makes a face. Empathy. Hell, where did that come from? She must be getting soft.

“Could be nothing,” she answers carefully. “I’ll let you know if it pans out into anything.” Duncan is a touchy subject, despite everything, and she’d rather not reveal any of his deep dark secrets to someone that barely knows him unless there’s a good reason. She feels a bit guilty, having just promised to let him in and already keeping things from him, but she pushes it down as she sets Carrie’s file on the table.

“In the meantime, we’ve got this,” she says. “Do me a favor and keep your ears open? It’s all anyone’s talking about, and I’m sure most of it’s crap, but there’s got to be something that someone saw or heard. High school kids are not known for their discretion.” 

Weevil nods, flipping idly through past report cards and teacher evaluations, but his eyes keep wandering to the entrance. 

“Embarrassed to be seen with me?” Veronica teases. When he turns his attention back to her, he’s got the raised eyebrow again that she’s becoming kind of fond of.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” he counters. Veronica shrugs. Both of them are pretty close to bottom-rung at Neptune, but at the end of the day he’s got more clout than she does thanks to the PCH’ers, people that actually care where he goes and who he goes with. She’s got Wallace and scare tactics and that’s really about it. She concentrates on stirring her drink because it’s easier than looking him in the eye as she comes to the terrifying conclusion that she’d actually miss having him as a friend if he suddenly decided that his gang was more important than finding Lilly’s killer.

“When my mom died, Felix convinced me that she had faked her own death,” Weevil says quietly. Veronica’s head whips up, eyes slightly wide, because there are a million different places this little meeting of theirs could have gone, but this was definitely not one that was ever on her radar of possibility. He’s looking straight at her, idly crumpling a napkin but meeting her eyes. 

“What happened?” she blurts out, knowing it’s probably not the right thing to ask but overwhelmed by curiosity despite herself.

“Drive-by. She got caught up with some loser, ended up in the middle of a gang war. Berto was there when it happened, watched them wrap her up in a body bag and everything. But me and Felix, we were kids. So we came up with this story about how she had set the whole thing up herself, and now she was drinking pina coladas on a beach in the Bahamas. How she’d send for me one day - a coded message, of course, so nobody but me would know where she was - and we’d live happily ever after.” He snorts, but there’s no bitterness behind it. “Kids, you know?”

“I think we all tell ourselves lies,” Veronica answers carefully. “At least for awhile. Makes the big stuff easier to swallow if we don’t have to accept it all at once.” Weevil nods, gaze straying to the exit once more. 

“I’m just saying. I kind of really hate the guy, but…” He doesn’t finish the thought; then again, he doesn’t really need to. Veronica feels another pang of regret for those normal lives they never got; her, shopping for a prom dress with her mother. Weevil, patiently letting his dad teach him how to fix his bike. Lilly, with a whole new crop of boys to terrorize as a college freshman. It’s not something she likes to dwell on, but it lurks in the back of her mind no matter how much she tries to chase it away. Things were not meant to happen this way.

The feeling is still there three days later, when Weevil pulls the LeBaron around to the front of the prison and she slides into the passenger’s seat. Girls her age are supposed to be texting and drinking and flirting, not visiting convicted murderers (who aren’t really murderers at all). But this is the hand that life has dealt her, and though there are better ways to have spent an afternoon than talking to Abel Koontz, it’s also the biggest lead she’s had yet.

“What did he have to say?” Weevil asks, and she turns her head to look at him. Really look at him.

She didn’t really know what to expect when she brought someone else on board. She’s still being cautious, not revealing her entire hand, but that’s just habit and self-preservation. Having someone else on the inside means that she has someone to talk to about this, someone to pick her up when her hands are shaking too badly to be driving anywhere and someone who remembers the great things about Lilly and the things that made you want to kill her - and doesn’t hold either against her. It’s more of a weight off of her shoulders than she realized, to have someone else in her corner that knows, and that cares. It’s been a long time since she let someone in so completely, and if she’s not careful she might just concede the fact that it feels good. 

Still not having gotten an answer, Weevil glances over at her to find her staring back. “What?” he asks, self-consciously. Veronica shakes her head.

“Nothing.”

When they get back to the school parking lot she tells him everything. He drinks it in, sitting astride his bike, and something like a grin crosses his face. He recognizes it for the big break that it is, and they agree to sleep on it, mull it over, before jumping into planning their next move.

But for now, she rolls down the window, and breathes.


	12. Ruskie Business

The thing is, once he gets used to having Veronica Mars in his life, it becomes second nature. Almost disturbingly easily. He gets used to nodding at her in hallways, having her yank him into the girls’ bathroom to ask for favors, hanging out in her living room watching stupid cartoons long after the actual casework is done. He even gets used to sitting with her and that kid at lunch, and he doesn’t really think all that much of him, but Wallace (okay, so he knows his name, it doesn’t make them _friends_ or anything) nods at him in the hallways too, and they’re in the same history class, so maybe sometimes he acknowledges his presence. He cribs notes off of him a few times too, but that’s just because it’s convenient. It _does not_ make them friends.

(Wallace is funny. And probably one of the few people that can get Veronica to crack a real smile. And Weevil’s seen him in action on the basketball court, both on televised games and in gym class, and the boy’s got skills. But he’s already getting enough crap from his boys about hanging around Veronica, he doesn’t need to add another loser outcast to the mix.)

So when she gets caught up in cases that she doesn’t seem to need him for, three days pass without her number popping up on the screen of his phone. Then a week. He still nods at her in the hallways, but rather than the usual teasing smirk she sends him, her response is cursory. He doesn’t share any classes with her, and despite slowing his steps as he passes by the girls’ room (a fact which he will outright deny to anyone who asks), he never feels her tiny fists grab onto the sleeve of his jacket, doesn’t get the hand-wave over at lunch. He even resorts to striking up conversations with Wallace in history class, but despite complaining good-naturedly about some of the stuff Veronica has him doing, he doesn’t get much information out of him, and he doesn’t want to push it. He can already see the knowing pity in the boy’s eyes and fuck it all, he used to be smoother than that.

He doesn’t even know what he’s looking for. It’s not like she’s done anything wrong, like she owes him anything. He trusts her enough to know that if something important had come up in Lilly’s case, she would have told him.

The fact that she’s suddenly best friends with Logan Echolls also has nothing to do with this. At all.

It settles in the back of his mind, but it’s not until he’s sitting at home one afternoon playing X-Box with Chardo (9 days since he’s heard from Veronica…not that he’s counting…) that it hits him all at once. Felix strolls in the front door with this doofy expression on his face, talking about some chick he wants to take to the dance tonight, and Weevil’s hands freeze. Chardo, who has been largely ignoring Felix since the age of seven, neatly decapitates Weevil’s game character and throws down the controller to cheer raucously. Letti scolds him from the kitchen, but Weevil doesn’t even notice, because he’s too busy figuring out that he’s got a big damn crush on Veronica Mars.

And it’s not like it’s a complete shock; like he hasn’t thought about her like that once or twice. Or several times. But he’s a hormone-addled high school male and she’s a hot chick who likes to bust his chops. It’s normal. Expected, even. Something he can easily write off as a product of circumstance.

That it might go deeper…well, it’s not something he’s considered. (Or, more accurately, something he’s avoided.) But while Felix drifts around the living room waxing poetic about some girl whose name he won’t even tell them, something in his eyes hits Weevil like a gutpunch. He looks like a damn fool, but there’s something _real_ there, something solid; something more than you can get from a drunken tumble in the back of some chick’s car. Not that he doesn’t enjoy said drunken fumblings, but once everyone’s clothes are back on and he’s lying in his room at night alone, that’s it. That’s all it was. That’s all his ma ever had, and look where it landed her.

Abuela lectures them all the time about finding someone proper, settling down - lectures the girls just the same as the boys, don’t get her wrong, Leticia Navarro is an equal-opportunity lecturer. He doesn’t think Veronica Mars is necessarily what she had in mind, but truth be told she’s probably the closest shot he’s ever had at that. He likes and trusts her in a way he doesn’t many other people, male or female. And that’s got to mean something, right?

It’s how he ends up here, loitering in the parking lot outside of Neptune High feeling like a tool while kids in cheesy costumes hold hands and stroll inside to the strains of INXS. He doesn’t exactly have a plan here. He doesn’t have roses or a tuxedo or any sort of grand romantic gesture up his sleeve - hell there’s a good chance that she won’t even be here, but he was walking behind Meg Manning on the way to Lit and he heard her tell someone she was coming, and she was dragging Veronica along come hell or high water. Her companion had scoffed, but Meg had given her this determined smile and said she had a plan, and god help him but stubborn blondes, man…

Several classmates give him looks at they pass, ranging from confusion to disdain, but Weevil flicks ash to the ground and remains outwardly impervious. Until he starts to think about what it’s going to be like walking in there, looking for V, having her potentially tell him to take a hike with the whole of Neptune watching and okay, so this was a bad plan. He can admit that. He finishes his cigarette and crushes the butt beneath his heel, ready to forget this moment of temporary insanity, when he sees her.

Veronica walks quickly, almost half-running, to her car. She passes by without even seeing him but Weevil catches a glimpse of her face, the watery eyes and the uncomfortable twist of her mouth. The LeBaron is at the back of the parking lot, and when she reaches it she climbs into the driver’s seat but doesn’t start the engine. Weevil has to squint to see, it’s dark and she’s several rows behind him, but the way she puts her head in her hands is unmistakable.

He freezes, unsure. A crying girl is not something he’s a equipped to handle, and a crying Veronica Mars, notorious tough girl…even less so. But this is what Abuela is always going on about - being there for someone, putting their needs first. He thinks about hugging her, about her tiny body wrapped around his, and it’s…still not something he’s really prepared for, but it’s not the worst thing either, and he can’t just sit here and watch her cry alone in her car.

That freeze-up, that minute of inaction - it proves to be his undoing, because someone else steps up to her window and gives it a tap, and Weevil risks taking a few steps forward to see that it’s none other than Deputy Dorkwad, from the police station. Man, he’s really starting to hate that guy. But he’s got a suit, and flowers, and that’s never going to be Weevil’s thing, but from the look on Veronica’s face, it might just be hers. 

He snorts to himself, somehow unsurprised, and kick-starts his bike. He knows when to cut his losses.


	13. Betty and Veronica

“How is it possible that I never knew about this place until today?” Veronica wonders aloud. Weevil nearly jumps out of his skin when she approaches him from behind, hurriedly shoving a wad of cash into his pocket like she hasn’t already figured out that he’s the famed Rest Stop 15 bookie.

“Maybe there are some things that even the great Veronica Mars misses,” he says testily. Her gaze drops to his bulging pocket.

“Apparently,” she agrees. “Were you going to tell me that you’re a key player in the case you’re helping me with right now?” He regards her for a second, then takes a step forward. 

“Are you going to tell me how you _just happened_ to find a bug planted in your room?” he counters. “I know you’re hiding something.” Veronica scowls.

“I don’t have to tell you every little detail of my life,” she argues. And this is different. It really is. This is her _mom_, something she doesn’t share with anyone. At all. Even Wallace only knows the vaguest details. 

“And I don’t have to tell you every detail of mine. There, are we even now? Can we drop this?” Veronica glares.

“That’s hardly the same thing.” He shrugs.

“Well, I really wouldn’t know, would I?” Veronica leans in - just a little, but still probably more than is strictly necessary given that he’s already up in her face. She tells herself it’s because she wants to keep this conversation between the two of them, but the truth is that no one is paying them any mind, everyone far too concerned with taking care of their own business.

“You know that if it was something important, something about Lilly, I would tell you,” she says quietly. And this is the thing that sucks about opening up to people, because when Weevil shrugs and refuses to meet her eyes, mumbles:

“Do I?” to the ground…it sucker punches her. She shouldn’t care, doesn’t have time to stroke bruised egos when there’s so much on the line, but the hurt look he tries so desperately to hide clenches at something deep inside of her, something that knows the feeling all too well. She’s struggling to find the words to respond when her cell phone beeps at her, the alarm she set to remind her to be home in time for Leo to deliver the interrogation tapes.

“I’ve…gotta go,” she says uneasily. Weevil looks back up, shoots her a resigned smile.

“More secrets?”

“No…not exactly,” she hedges. She hasn’t told him about Leo either, but that’s…well, okay yes, that was deliberate. But not for the same reasons. The thing with Leo is safe and fun and if it were any other time, if she were any other girl, she’d be beside herself with excitement. But she’s not any other girl, she’s Veronica Mars, and between schoolwork, cases, her mother, her father, and Lilly - just to name a few - she’s got approximately twelve million things twisted up inside of her head fighting for airtime whenever she’s supposed to be focused on the cute guy that really really likes her. Not least of these things is the stirring that she feels deep in the pit of her stomach when Weevil presses even closer, forcing her to take a step back until her body hits the side of the Honda Civic behind her. 

“When are you gonna let me in for real, Mars?” he asks. There’s no anger behind it, even though he’s by all rights earned it; instead the question comes out wistful, and she can’t stop her eyes from darting down to his mouth. It curls into a smirk, one that sends warmth shooting through her and ooooohhhhhh shit, she is so totally screwed.

If this were any other time, if she were any other girl, she’d just go for it, right here and now. Kiss that smirk right off of his face and let the rest follow, tell Leo she’s sorry before things go any further between them. But she’s not any other girl, she’s Veronica Mars, and she doesn’t have the luxury of letting nature take its course. Leo is vital to gaining access to Lilly’s files, access she never had before now, and Weevil is…well, he’s an unknown variable. And now, when she’s so close to getting actual answers, is _not_ the time to be adding a wild card into the mix.

She ducks under his arm, muttering “bye” as she high-tails it to the LeBaron, and can’t stop the uneasy feeling creeping up on her. She’s playing people like pawns, like Lilly used to do. But it’s for the greater good, right? Finding her killer, letting justice be served…that’s supposed to be what matters. It always has. It’s never bothered her before, making sacrifices for the sake of the truth, but now…

She doesn’t even know what to believe anymore.


	14. Kanes and Abel's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhhmmmmm…now is probably a good time to warn you in advance that this story is not going to have a happy ending. AT LEAST NOT THIS PART PLEASE DON’T MURDER ME. It was always intended to span all 3 seasons. Given my track record, that’s going to take about another 10 years to complete, but rest assured _I will_. Though my progress is obviously slow, this is the only WIP I’ve never been able to fully abandon. Also, for those (two) of you whom I have been promising kissage: NEXT CHAPTER. I SWEAR. And I think you can pretty much figure out where it's going.

There’s no answer when Weevil knocks on the motel door with one hand, the other juggling two unwieldy grocery totes. Several moments of silence later, he risks calling out Amelia’s name, but still nothing. Dammit. He shifts the load in his arms, and on a hunch, he leans forward to press his ear against the door. Sure enough, he hears someone shuffling around on the other side of the paper thin wood. He glances furtively down the hallway; how far does Veronica expect him to go with this cloak and dagger shit?

“Amelia, I know you’re in there,” he says to the door. “It’s okay, Veronica sent me.” All sounds cease, but then a thin voice finally calls out:

“What’s the passcode?” Weevil sighs heavily.

“The passcode is Veronica needs a new errand boy,” he mutters, but Amelia isn’t biting, so he heaves out another sigh. “It’s fucking 'I heart unicorns’, okay?” There’s a pause, and then the door pops open, chain still latched. Amelia is small and pale, with wild red curls springing out from the messy bun atop her head, and gives him a skeptical once-over through the small crack in the door frame.

“Who are you?” she asks. 

“Name’s Weevil.” Amelia ducks her head, fiddling with her cell phone, and he shrugs. “Look, it’s fine, I’ll just leave these by the door,” he says. Amelia casts another nervous glance at him, mouth moving without words, and he sets the bags down onto the carpet. “Have a great night,” he says, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice as much as possible. He can’t really get too annoyed; girl’s probably scared and confused, being paranoid is really in her best interest right now. He gets a few feet away when he hears the door shut behind him, but then it opens again, and Amelia calls:

“I’m sorry, please come in. I just texted her. She says you’re okay.”

“High praise,” he scoffs, turning back around. Amelia’s smile still doesn’t reach her eyes, but she beckons him into the room. He scoops the grocery bags up off the floor, and moves past her to set them on the one small table. Except that it’s covered in school books and notes and pens and about forty different colored highlighters. So is the floor, and one of the beds, so Weevil pulls out the two chairs and puts one bag on each. When he glances back, Amelia is blushing.

“Sorry,” she says. “About before. And about the mess. I kinda went a bit overboard with the study session. Lack of anything else to do, but I guess there are worse ways to waste time.” Weevil surveys the jumble of equations and formulas and makes a face.

“Not really my strong suit,” he says. “I’m sure it won’t come as a shock to learn that Veronica is usually the brains of the operation.” Amelia bites a thumbnail and stares at him, eyes wide. It’s starting to annoy him. “What?” he barks out. She jumps a little, and he immediately feels bad.

“Sorry,” she says again. “Just… I don’t know, you don’t look like… You and Veronica… I mean…”

“We don’t look like we run in the same crowd?” Weevil helps her out. Amelia glances down, embarrassed, but it’s not like he’s not used to it. People see him coming, there are usually a few thoughts that roll through their heads, and being pals with a lower middle-class white girl former cheerleader isn’t usually one of them. Amelia moves over to the table and chairs and begins pawing through the contents of the shopping bags, possibly as a distraction, and lets out a yelp when she finds a packet of Starbucks grounds. 

“I haven’t had real coffee in days,” she practically moans, and carries it over to the pathetic looking little white plastic coffee maker in the corner. She seems to calm down a bit as she goes through the motions of emptying the old bag, gently setting in a clean filter, measuring out two scoops of grounds (with a few more deep sniffs along the way), and setting the timer. Her fingers are quick and deft along the familiar task, and when she looks back up at Weevil, her smile seems genuine.

“Here,” she says, and scurries over to clear a spot on the study bed. “Sit down, the coffee will be ready in a few minutes.” Weevil doesn’t really have any reason to stay other than he feels bad for the girl, so he slings his jacket onto a chair and settles himself on top of the scratchy motel comforter, keeps quiet as she fusses about. She keeps fussing, even after the coffee has been brewed and poured and he’s taken a few deep gulps (he’s not what you’d call a Starbucks regular, but this shit is good). He’s trying to figure out what to say to break her nervous silence, but she beats him to it, blurting out:

“What’s your dad like?” Weevil snorts.

“If you find him, you can ask him yourself,” he retorts. It’s his standard flip answer, and for the most part he’s over it. The guy was a loser, and if he didn’t want to stick around for his kid, then Weevil never really had any reason or desire to go looking for him. But he still gets this little twinge every time he talks about him, no matter how many years have passed. Amelia is nodding; not because she’s claiming to understand, he doesn’t think, but just because she’s listening. He appreciates that.

“I wonder sometimes what it would have been like to not have a dad at all,” she says a few moments later. “Whether it would have been better or worse than having a good one for awhile, only for him to turn violent and get sent to jail.” Weevil shrugs.

“I guess that’s normal,” he says. “I used to wonder all the time what it would be like if things were different.”

“And?”

“I’m not usually a big fan of the whole ‘it’s better to have loved and lost’ bullshit, and if the guy didn’t want a kid in the first place then he probably wouldn’t have been that great of a father. But my mom… she was great. I mean she never really planned for kids either, but she did the best that a 16-year-old could do I guess.” He doesn’t talk about this shit very often. But he gets why she’s asking, and here in a secreted away hotel room with a relative stranger, it kind of feels like it doesn’t matter. Like he can tell her things and she’s not going to judge him, going to hold it against him later. Feels a little bit like sitting in the passenger’s seat of the LeBaron, tented in blue; like the rest of the world has just ceased to exist for a little while.

“She’s gone, your mom?” Amelia asks carefully.

“Drive-by. I was pretty young. So maybe that means some of my memories of her aren’t the most accurate. But I had some good years with her, and that’s what I remember. It comes with the other stuff, the sad stuff, but you know. I had a mom, for awhile. That’s more than some people get.” Amelia does the nodding thing again, savoring the coffee that Weevil has already slurped down most of.

“I did ballet when I was in elementary school,” she says, staring out the motel window like she can actually see something other than the drawn curtains. She lets out a small laugh. “I was terrible. I grew like three inches in a year, and I didn’t know what to do with suddenly having these really long arms and legs. I looked like a drunken stick figure, always tripping and bumping into things.” Weevil gives an appreciative chuckle at the description.

“All my niece wants for her birthday is a pair of toe shoes,” he shares. “She’s the most uncoordinated kid you’ve ever seen, can’t slow down for more than five seconds, but she spins herself dizzy in the middle of the living room like it’s the best thing in the world. I’m kinda hoping there’s some sort of secret special ballerina trick someone can teach her so she doesn’t keep almost horking on herself.” Amelia turns back to look at him, smiling broadly and seeming a little less out of it, a little more into the conversation instead of just talking out into the ether.

“Spotting,” she says. Weevil knits his brow in confusion. “The secret special ballerina trick,” she clarifies. “You pick something to look at, and you keep looking at it until the very last second, then you whip your head around really fast to look back at it again. Feels like you’re going to break your neck, but it does stop you from wanting to throw up.” She takes another sip of her coffee, wrapping her hands around the cheap styrofoam cup to warm them, the same way Abeula does sitting at the kitchen table every morning. 

“My mom volunteered my dad to drive half the class to a recital, because my uncle had this big old passenger van that he’d let us borrow. And he was so worried about being late that he ended up getting us there forty five minutes early. They wouldn’t even let us into the dressing rooms yet, there was a wedding going on and the bridesmaids were still using it. We sat out in the lobby, waiting, my dad desperately trying to keep this gaggle of nine year old girls entertained. So he pulled out the bags of makeup and hair stuff and let us give him a makeover. We had pictures. Glitter in his hair, blue eyeshadow, the works. And he just sat there and told us how much he appreciated our help. Sat through the entire recital like that. When I got old enough to know that most dads aren’t exactly dying to walk around in public looking like Tammy Faye Baker, I remember looking at those pictures and thinking I had the best dad a girl could ask for.”

“I mean I didn’t know the guy,” Weevil prefaces. “But he stuck around, even if things didn’t work out later. And if he’s giving you all this money now… I mean it kinda sounds like he’s trying to say he’s sorry. Probably won’t change anything - you can keep hating him if you want, dudes who hit women are scumbags. All I know is that my pops did a shitty thing and then disappeared. Yours did a shitty thing and is trying to make up for it. That counts for something, right?” Amelia shrugs.

“I guess? I mean what good does it do if he’s behind bars, though?”

“He might not be much longer. Veronica… Mr. McCormack… is trying to make things right. He could get out.” 

“He could. Or he could not. He could be trying to say he’s sorry. Or I could just be the most convenient place to store the money and he’ll want it all back if he does get out. He could be a changed man. Or he could be more bitter than ever.”

“I’m not saying any of that isn’t possible. I mean again, I don’t know the guy. But I do know Veronica, and I know she’s good. She’s stubborn. She usually gets what she wants, whether other people like it or not.” That gets the smile that has faded back on Amelia’s face.

“I do get that impression,” she agrees. Weevil debates whether or not to say what he’s going to say next, but he finally can’t help himself. Not when this girl is one of the best and most solid leads they’ve had in a long time.

“It’s about more than him, too,” he says. She cocks her head to the side. “I knew Lilly Kane. I was… dating is probably the wrong word. But I cared about her. Veronica did, too. That’s why I’m here. I don’t think your dad did it, and I want to help prove it. Because then we can find out who really did. And I want them to pay.” Amelia looks stunned.

“Tell me about her,” she insists. “I don’t know much outside of what we saw on the news back in the day. We lived right outside Neptune and I was a few years older than her. I didn’t go to school with her, or know anyone that knew her. Outside of the gossip, that is; everyone loved to gossip about the Kanes. She was this tragic story that all the mothers told so that we would come home on time and call and not go anywhere we weren’t supposed to.”

“She was…” Weevil chuckles, at the mere idea that Lilly Kane can be summed up so easily. “She was young and stupid,” he finally settles on. “Young and stupid like all the rest of us, but she just made it seem so exciting. I’ve never known anyone who could fuck up so beautifully. It made it hard to get mad at her, hard to see that she was probably just as scared and insecure as we all are, she was just better at hiding it. And when you were around her, you felt like that, too. Like you could fuck up and not know what you were doing, but it would all turn out okay. Like you could do anything.” Amelia is watching him, enraptured, and he starts to feel a little self-conscious. Even with the anonymity that the situation affords him, talking about Lilly is hard. It’s messy and it’s complicated, and Weevil hasn’t always dealt so well with messy and complicated. It’s why he never told anyone about the two of them, why it’s so hard for him to just admit that he likes Veronica. Love is pretty much synonymous with messy and complicated, and he can admit that that scares the crap out of him.

“I think I would have liked her,” Amelia decides, and Weevil laughs.

“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe she would have decided that she hated you for some reason, or she was jealous of you, and she would have made your life miserable. All those news stories you saw, where they made her out to be some sort of perfect angel? She wasn’t. At all. She could be an absolute royal bitch; sometimes for no reason at all, and sometimes because she had shit going on that she didn’t know how to deal with. But somehow, you always forgave her. It never seemed to matter, because she had already moved onto the next adventure. And if you were lucky, you got to be along for the ride.”

Weevil downs the last of the coffee and balls up his cup, tossing it towards the tiny metal trash basket. It bounces into a perfect rimshot just as Amelia’s burner phone trills. He’s grateful for the reprieve, because he’s feeling pretty talked out after all of this. She grabs it up and inspects the caller ID. “It’s my boyfriend,” she explains. “I’ve gotta take this.” Weevil gestures an affirmative, rising to stand. He slips his jacket back on and gives her a quick wave as he fishes his keys out of his pocket, hearing her answer and greet her boyfriend, her voice pitching higher and softer as she speaks. Before he can make it out the door, however, she calls his name.

“I think I get it now,” she says to him. “Why Veronica trusts you so much.” Weevil looks away, and slips out into the hallway before she can say more.


End file.
